


a dream is a wish your heart makes

by esnoyuuutsu



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Arson, Blood, Cheating, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Murder, Nocturnality (A3!), Play Characters, References to Incest, Risky Game (A3!), The Master Likes a Mystery, because mystery is like that and idk why i do this to myself, but it's every winter and then some, i wrote this for myself so if you happen to enjoy it then great if not then idk what u expected, i'm only tagging the ones i wanna write more of (, shizu voice i met a man who accused me of murder and i now dream of kissing him under the moonlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22788313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esnoyuuutsu/pseuds/esnoyuuutsu
Summary: Shiki may have left the Kusanagi household after resolving the murder incident, but he certainly hasn't left Shizuma's thoughts.Every night, Shizuma dreams of a life that is not his own, and again, that man is there.// contains every winter play + 2 mixed, and spoilers(?) for act 5 and scarlet mirror
Relationships: August/July (A3!), Franz/Kuto Reo (A3!), Mikage Hisoka/Yukishiro Azuma, Tojo Shiki/Kusanagi Shizuma (A3!)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	a dream is a wish your heart makes

**Author's Note:**

> (holds dream sequence in my hand) i just think they're neat
> 
> the names change 3948679387 times but the pov is mostly azuma except for like two segments so i hope it's not Too confusing

_Late into the night, in an era long gone, a woman arranges her things before going to bed._

_Her neighbour has a visitor over, and while she isn't too concerned, it does catch her attention. What a strange hour to have a friend calling._

_As she carefully puts her shamisen away in its corner, she hears her neighbour's door creak, and her curiosity gets the better of her. She creeps to the window._

_In the dim moonlight, she sees white hair and pale arms shining against dark blue clothes fading into the night. There is an outline all too familiar to her—a knife waiting in its sheath—and a cold apprehension traces its way down her spine._

_The figure begins to turn, and she ducks away—back against the door, heart pounding in her chest. A soft pattering comes closer, and she digs her nails into her hands, blood running to ice in her veins._

_A second passes, and another, and another._

_As she loses count, the near imperceptible sound of footsteps fades away, and she lets out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding._

_She goes to bed, staring at the empty ceiling, her mind making shapes of the flickering shadows._

_As if to block out her growing unease, she shuts her eyes tight, laying one arm over them, praying for morning._

And when the sun rose, its rays drifted onto Shizuma's face, putting an end to his last night in his home.

* * *

As he was led to his cell, he had only two thoughts.

First, that this was the price he had to pay. He had made a decision—his sister was free from Souma Keiichi, but nothing came without cost. If he'd had his way, he would have dirtied his hands a little more before yielding to the arms of the law; but he was discovered, and let it not be said that Kusanagi Shizuma was anything but a man of his word. He turned himself in without issue, except…

Second, his last conversation with Tojo Shiki had been playing over and over in his head since he'd left his home. Shiki was an idiot. He knew nothing. He was so easily led, so trusting; Shizuma nearly thought it was a ploy until he realised that without his sharp-eyed butler, Shiki would have lived peacefully in blissful ignorance—sipping tea and chattering happily with Shizuma in the exact same library where the murder occurred, none the wiser.

After all, Shiki was so simple. So honest. It was almost laughable, the way he confronted Shizuma—a scent? On a bookmark? The same scent as that of his dead sister's kerchief, as evidence she had been killed there at his hand, when she lived under the same roof and spent just as much time in the study as he did.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to deny Shiki's accusations. Turned him out of the house, lied to the police, accepted his parents' offer to have the trial dropped—he could be sitting at home right at that second.

And yet.

Just remembering Shiki looking up at him as the truth was revealed was enough to draw claws around his chest—eyes pained and voice low, low enough that perhaps Shiki could keep him from hearing altogether—and he couldn't understand it in the slightest.

"Here you are, young master." There was a laugh as Shizuma was ushered into a damp, dimly lit room, the door rattling shut behind him. Peering up at him from a rickety-looking bed was a green-haired man with bright intelligent eyes—so sharp Shizuma could feel them gleaning every bit of information off him before their owner spoke. It wasn't pleasant.

"So you're the rich boy who _wanted_ to go to jail?" His eyes shone with amusement. "Isn't the whole point of being rich avoiding prison? I would've stayed home if I had that chance."

Shizuma said nothing.

The other man raised an eyebrow. "Don't talk much, do you. Not that I mind." He extended a hand. "Name's Sen. Nice to meet you, rich boy."

He shook Sen's hand, flinching at the touch of the cold metal of a ring wrapped around icy fingers. "It's Shizuma, actually."

Sen smiled, his mouth the curl of a snake's tail. "We're going to be seeing each other quite often, so let's get along, shall we?"

* * *

That night too, Shizuma dreamed.

_He isn't quite himself—glasses perched on his nose, a ponytail trailing down his shoulder, the pure white coat of a doctor; his surroundings just as familiarly foreign, the white walls of a hospital filled with objects and papers he doesn't understand._

_A sudden flash of light outside his window, and before he can even think to move, he dashes out towards it._

_There, in the courtyard, something he knows he was waiting for and thought would never arrive: a figure, bright and blinding, a haze of blue and white and gold amongst the plants as if his mind were hastily piecing together a form that would not cause his consciousness to instantly crumble to dust—settling on something that looks just like_ him _, pale cloudy hair, shimmering green eyes, a look of horror spreading across gentle features._

_"Come no closer," says the angel—and he knows it is an angel, even without looking at the ephemeral glow around its spun-sugar head, and the glimmer by its shoulders from his mind rejecting the mere idea of wings—though less speech than projecting its voice directly into his thoughts._

_"You're…"_

_He can't find the words._

_The angel shakes its head slowly, leaving afterimages of its face in trails of light hanging in the air. "You saw nothing. Tell no one."_

_"No, wait—"_

_As he reaches out, the impressions of wings begin to flicker, the angel's feather-light hair and pearly white robes fluttering in the wind._

_Another flash of light, searing his eyes, and_ —

—Shizuma awoke in a cold sweat, hands clasped around angel feathers that did not exist.

* * *

"Do you always shout so much in your sleep?"

Over breakfast, Sen tried for more conversation.

"Oh, did I wake you?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm an insomniac, I would've been awake either way." The pointed eyes glinted once more, the question of sleep clearly not his main goal. "Anyway, if you don't mind me asking, what did you do to end up in here?"

Shizuma did mind, in fact, but Sen continued.

"There's a lot of rumours flying around, you know. I'm sure you don't care, but better it gets cleared up before someone calls you a sister fucker right to your face."

There was a dull clatter as Shizuma dropped his utensils on the table. He had not a single doubt that if there was any scandalous talk at all, it was Sen instigating it. He took a breath.

"I did absolutely nothing of the sort."

"But you did kill her, right?"

Sen's serpentine grin widened, Shizuma half-expecting fangs to peek out any second.

"We had a disagreement." His face settled into the expression deemed too cold and impassive to convince neither judge nor audience nor sensationalist reporters that he was anything but an unfeeling murderer. "I didn't approve of this...man she was going to marry, and she wouldn't listen to me."

"So you stabbed her." Sen completed the thought as if he were commenting on the weather. Raising an eyebrow, he continued, "And not at any point did you think to kill her boyfriend first?"

Shizuma opened his mouth, and shut it again. He had considered putting a merciful end to Keiichi's miserable existence more times than he could count. His promise to take care of the young man after his sister's unfortunate passing was clear deception, but surely in his eager clawing towards the Kusanagis' money, Keiichi had never even realised how many times he had come close to death under the same roof as his late fiancee.

And yet, as fate would have it, before he could ever hurt a hair on Souma Keiichi's empty blue head, his sister came to him instead.

"...it was for her own good." Eyelids low and gaze far off, Shizuma muttered a reply.

A laugh. "You know, saying things like that is why people think you're a—"

"Please don't say it again." Turning his attention back to Sen, Shizuma narrowed his eyes. "Alright then, Sen-san. Why don't you tell me why you're here? It's only fair."

"Gladly." He leaned forward, elbows resting against the table. “I threw my son off a cliff.”

“What?”

Sen wagged a finger, tutting loudly. “You can’t look at me like that, you stabbed your own sister. Right to her face.”

“As for the rest of my story, my old partner-in-crime, as it were, sold me out to the cops. My son and I were on the run, and we were right at the end of our rope. And at the edge of a cliff.” He put a hand to his cheek. "In the hopes that my sweet boy would survive, I threw him into the ocean just as they opened fire on us. After that, I woke up in the hospital, and shortly after I was escorted here.”

Shizuma crossed his arms, doubtful. “So it wasn’t actually because of your son.”

“Well...no.” Sen laughed. “It catches more attention if I say it that way.”

“Is any of that even true?”

He shrugged, shaking his head with a smile. “Is it?”

“I find, Shizuma-kun, that truth is highly subjective, and you can make of it what you will.”

* * *

_He watches an aria from the wings of a darkened theatre._

_The singer is good. Excellent, really. Warm and full of emotion, soft and yet powerful enough to feel like a punch in the face._

_As the opera comes to an end, he smiles and nods briefly at the dancers and chorus line who pass him by, and the lead singer himself comes to make conversation._

_"Ah, M. de Chagny! How wonderful to see you've come by to support me as well."_

_"Carl."_

_Philippe is familiar with him—a young up and coming singer, full of himself from fans’ admiration and his own manager’s whispers alike, a relentless flirt, capricious and demanding—like many of the other actors his age._

_He laughs. "I used to work here too, you know. I still like checking in on everyone's progress, not just yours."_

_"Don't be so coy." Carl tilts his head, his perfectly set hair falling lightly on his face like fresh snow. "Though I do know that you're talking about that little lounge singer your brother's taken such a liking to."_

_"Chris Daae, you mean?" A newcomer, and though Philippe was no longer a regular occupant of the theatre, even he could tell the poor thing was a thorn in Carl's side. "He's quite promising, if you would just support him as his senior rather than—"_

_Carl's lip curls, briefly marring his angelic face. He steps closer. "A little bit of rivalry never hurt anyone, now, did it?" His smile returns, pink curving softly under bright green eyes and fluttering lashes._

_"That's the problem with you and your little brother. You're too...soft." His hand brushes Philippe's lapel, holds silver hair that slips through his fingers. "Not that it's a bad quality in a man."_

_Philippe's eyes dart from the ensemble murmuring as they try to sneak past, to Carl looking up at him with mockingly innocent eyes, a pout playing on his lips. As his mind races, a nightmare of orange and red appears at the edge of his vision to save him the trouble._

_"Carl, my boy."_

_The new manager has been waiting at the sidelines, the perfect picture of calm and sensibility to his protege's impulsiveness and frivolity—if not for his cane tapping incessantly against the floor._

_"M. Firmin," Philippe nods, and the feathered hat tilts just a bit. "I believe that's your cue."_

_Carl glances back in the direction of the taps that are growing steadily more impatient by the second. He starts to walk away, waving a delicate hand and blowing a kiss the same way he does for his fans._

_"Well, if that's all the time we have. Come see my next performance as well, won't you?"_

* * *

"You've got a visitor."

"Is it him?"

The guard scratched his head, seeming nearly apologetic. "Send him home again?"

Shizuma closed his eyes, sighing. "If that's alright."

"Hey, can't make you go see your friends if you don't want to, rich boy."

The guard walked off, leaving Sen curiously peering at Shizuma.

"You only get any visits from one person, don't you, Shizuma-kun. Why don't you want to see him?"

That one person in question was Tojo Shiki himself, the fool who had stumbled his way into outsmarting Shizuma, whose face appeared in his dreams and whispered in his memory.

"He thinks he's my friend." A noise of interest from Sen. "I barely even know him."

"A stalker, then?" Sen tilted his head to one side in thought. "I suppose that would make sense with your background."

"Not...quite."

When Sen gestured for him to continue, Shizuma paused, trying to find the words to explain what Shiki was to him and coming up with nothing. Instead, he shook his head.

"Oh, that's no fun," frowned Sen. "Come on, I'll tell you why I'm really here."

Shizuma raised an eyebrow. "You first."

Sen stretched his shoulders, looking for all the world like a large housecat. "Really, I'm a traitor to the country." He cracked his neck.

"I'd stolen some secret documentation something-or-other, so I was on the run. I got in a hot air balloon, and ended up in a dear little town where none of them had ever seen such a thing before."

"After helping them with a couple of troublemakers, I realised that no matter how kindly they treated me, the right thing was to go back and face my crimes. Just like you, if you think about it!"

"At least half of that is from a fantasy novel." They'd known each other only a short time and Sen's lies no longer surprised Shizuma. At least his own lies weren't as ridiculous, he thought.

Sen beamed. "Well-read, too? Is there anything he can't do?"

"Are you enjoying this."

"I'm sorry, Shizuma-kun. Old habits die hard, as they say." He lay back on the thin sheets, looking up at the dusty cobwebbed ceiling. "Maybe someday I'll tell you when I'm ready."

"Then if it's all the same to you, Sen-san, I'll be keeping my explanation to myself until that time comes as well."

Shizuma didn't think it would any time soon.

* * *

_He wakes up, abruptly, ice-cold and heart racing._

_For a minute, he doesn't know where he is, or even who. It's the point after awakening from a long sleep when his brain is still adjusting to being conscious, and it doesn't help that his vision is foggy, his fingers are numb, every breath is a struggle, and it feels like he's been stabbed in the gut with a burning poker._

_"Oh, have you finally come to, little one?"_

_A familiar voice, though not one he'd been hoping for. He knows it's him, that man again, the one who won't leave him alone—_

_"...Fr…...Franz…" He just manages to choke out a name and already, it's dizzying._

_"Hush, hush. I've done what I can, Reiou, but you won't get any better if you don't eat."_

_Franz takes out what looks like a bag of blood normally found in hospitals, and Reiou wonders for a second how he could have gotten it._

_As if reading Reiou's mind, not lifting his eye from his hands, Franz says, "Don't look at me like that. Do you know how much donated blood goes to waste?" He flashes a pointy-toothed smile. "It's better used keeping us fed."_

_After fumbling a couple times with the plastic, Franz pulls off one of his gloves with his teeth for a better grip, resorting to biting at the blood bag's resilient little cap. It spills over his hands once he gets it open, hissing in frustration as he licks the blood from his lips._

_Reiou's vision goes hazy again as the harsh scent of salt and metal hits his nose and overloads his starving senses—try as he might to keep himself together, there's no denying instinct. Before he knows it, he's licking at Franz' pale bloodstained fingertips, rust and iron and an entire lifetime barrelling through his brain like holy water searing skin._

_"Wrong hand, little one." Franz slips his hand free—to Reiou's dismay, until he's given the rest of the bag, and as Franz removes his spoilt glove to pet Reiou's soft hair, he can't help but feel strangely like a child with candy as a reward for behaving at the doctor's._

_"Are you feeling better?"_

_Reiou nods, but as his attention drifts to Franz' upturned mouth in a half-amused smile, a spray of crimson on porcelain, his eyes start to glaze over._

_He feels his hair being stroked, he faintly hears joking complaints about how he's eating into Franz' stash of blood, but it's all going in one ear and out the other._

_"You're lucky that I'm quite fond of you.” Franz murmurs, Reiou's eyes blearily following his moving lips. "A crueler man would have left your beautiful lifeless body bleeding out on the sidewalk, but not I."_

_As Franz absently continues his rambling, Reiou drops the now empty bag on the sheets, leaning forward, unthinking, his brain driven only by the sight and scent of bright red blood._

_“Reiou—?”_

_Anything left he has to say is stifled as Reiou presses his mouth to Franz', licking at his lips, breathless and desperate. A hand touches his chest as he seeks out any lingering taste of metal, and just as he feels Franz beginning to move against him, Reiou's pushed away, Franz' other hand slipping over his mouth._

_"Now, now. Think of how your precious human would feel." Franz' tongue briefly flicks out over his lips, his eye unreadable. "If you're still thirsty, I'll go get some more."_

_Reiou throws himself into Franz' arms, shaking his head, burying his face in the ruffles of his collar. "...please don't leave me here."_

_Truly, it's more a plea out of fear than one for Franz in particular. He's there, alright, but he's cold. Reiou turns his face to rest against Franz' neck and it's ice—none of the warmth he'd grown accustomed to over the past few days. He briefly wonders if anything would come out if he took a bite._

_As if in response to his thoughts—or, more likely, to Reiou's breath on his neck—Franz remarks, "This shirt is older than you, so I'd appreciate if you didn't try tearing it off."_

_He laughs softly, stroking Reiou's hair again. "But...you poor sweet thing. It must have been scary, hm?"_

_"...why does it have to be like this…?" Reiou murmurs against Franz' skin, thinking aloud._

_Reiou's breathing falters, his eyes prickling. There's a softness against his face as Franz presses kisses to his cheek, lapping at the tears as they roll down, shushing him gently._

_After a pause, Franz replies, his voice low. "This is the place that has been carved out for us in the world, I'm afraid. If things were different, we wouldn't have to live this way, but this is how we are."_

_"We drink from humans, and they kill us. Such is the circle of life, I suppose."_

_Laying him down, running his fingers through his hair, Franz tucks Reiou back into bed._

_“However! Put that from your mind for now, my dear.” He pulls up a chair and rests his elbows on the mattress. “You should rest a while longer. I gave my word to your human I would have you back to explain everything to him, and I would rather not break it.”_

_“I’ll be by your side when you wake.”_

* * *

“Are you alive, Shizuma-kun?”

Sen leaned over him, waving a hand in front of his face to break Shizuma’s glassy-eyed gaze into the ceiling.

“...I believe I may be losing my mind.”

There was a soft noise as Sen dropped his hand down to the bed. "You've been here for a week, don't be so dramatic."

Shizuma sat up, staring intently at Sen. "Was there ever someone you couldn't stop thinking about?"

"Is this about that boy of yours again?" Sen asked, but Shizuma continued, in the grip of a sudden hysteria.

“Haunting your every waking hour, slipping into your dreams,” he ran a hand through his bangs, clutching at his hair. “I dreamt of biting at his neck and draining the blood from his body. What does that even mean?"

"Oh, I know what, but it's probably not what you think it means."

With Sen's sarcastic half-laugh, Shizuma regained his footing. It was a bit ridiculous, how he had been there for all of a week and immediately he had fallen victim to the nonsense in his own subconscious. There was no reason for him to be so alarmed—dreams were garbage cobbled together from memories and whatever was lying around in his mind, and little else.

"In any case, it's definitely not in the same way as you, but…" Sen sighed. "I have been thinking about my family a lot."

"Your family?"

"My father, mostly. He was a hardworking man, had to raise me on his own. He passed away a couple years before I got locked up, and he...he wouldn't have wanted this for me."

"Oh." Sen's usual air of deception was cut with the palest undertone of melancholy, and against his better judgement, there was a twinge of pity somewhere in Shizuma's chest. "Sen-san...I'm sorry."

A soft snicker. "Careful. You've done so well not believing me so far, don't start now."

Shizuma could see right through Sen's eyes, into cold gray emptiness.

* * *

_"Can I talk to you for a minute? Just the two of us."_

_His...sister?_

_No, not quite. While this woman certainly looks like her, something about the glint in her eyes and the sharp curve of her lipsticked smile screams of danger._

_Nevertheless, he follows her past the ringing cacophony of the casino to a quieter corner where they're less likely to be interrupted._

_"Norman," says Catherine, a bright red nail on her chin. "We're friends, aren't we?"_

_"Well, I'd like to think so."_

_"Good. There's something I need you to help me with, and I would like it very much if you agreed."_

_He takes a second to think, trying to ignore her eyes burning into his head. "What is it?"_

_"You see, I've racked up a bit of a debt. Liam, darling that he is, has agreed to take it on himself. Not that he'll remember doing that, honestly." She drops her singsong tone as she turns to look back at the table where she left her fiance. "God, just look at him."_

_Liam is sitting there, his cheeks nearly glowing red under the lights, scrunching up his face as he grins widely at the two of them._

_Norman squints at him. "Is he...trying to wink under his hair?"_

_Catherine sighs. "He is."_

_Looking back up at Norman, she tilts her head to the side. "Anyway, you're going to help him win every single cent."_

_"Win…?" The unease starts creeping into the back of his mind as he considers this tiny woman who he does indeed think of as a friend, but one he knew would shove a stiletto between his ribs if need be. "So...you mean, cheat."_

_"Only if you want to put it that way."_

_He's starting to get a headache. "I've told both of you already, I don't like doing that here. I could get in trouble."_

_"Oh, I know." Catherine tosses her hair over her shoulder, earrings jangling softly. "The problem is, if you don't help Liam, then that man over there in the neon leopard print is going to do something terrible."_

_Sure enough, a rough-looking man wearing loud showy colours—nature's shorthand for danger—hangs around the bar, shooting glances at Catherine and Liam. She flutters her fingers at him, and he turns away._

_"Catherine…"_

_Her eyebrows go up. "What's wrong? You can't? Did you have to grow a new backbone cause Liam shattered your old one?"_

_He slowly shakes his head, eyes wide._

_"Look at you, acting all innocent. You must think that you're so smart. That I couldn't tell what you—" She jabs a nail at his chest. "—and Liam have been getting up to when you thought I wouldn't notice."_

_“But you know, don't you? You know what you did."_

_Norman's gaze drifts back over to Liam; he's drunk, intently leaning over his cards, not noticing that they're clearly visible to the rest of the table._

_He does know, of course._

_He knows the taste of alcohol and overconfidence in Liam's mouth, leaving its mark just under his collar, over his shoulders, on his legs._

_How Liam's name sticks in Norman's throat as he clutches him tightly, digging his nails into Liam's back._

_He remembers Liam's hands, quick over casino tables, yet slow, leisurely, tangling in his hair, tracing over his skin, resting on his hips._

_Even just thinking about this, he can feel it again; the agony of Liam's slight frame pressed against his own, how it ached to hold him in his arms, knowing that in the morning they would both agree it was a mistake and it wouldn't happen again—at least, until the next time Liam would slink up at the end of Norman's shift with a look in his eye, asking if he had a minute for a drink with an old friend._

_And inevitably, the answer would be yes._

_"If you want him so badly," says Catherine, snapping Norman out of his daze, "then you can have him. You just have a little fee to pay for my troubles."_

_"...how much is it."_

_"A million dollars."_

_"A million—!"_

_Catherine shushes him, glancing over to Liam and the loan shark, neither of whom seem to have noticed._

_"How...how do you expect him to...how do you expect_ me _to…"_

_She flashes a smile, waving a contract with Liam's childish scrawl of a signature at the bottom._

_"Not my problem."_

  
  


_As they get back to the table, Liam sways unsteadily to Norman's side, gripping his shoulder too tight trying to stand up._

_"I think, I'm gonna be sick, maybe," Liam croaks._

_“You should probably go home,” Norman says, casting a glance towards Catherine, who laces her fingers together with a shrug._

_“I have something else to take care of, so Norman, if you could…?”_

_He sighs. “I’ll call Liam a cab.”_

_With a last nod to Norman and a little kiss blown to Liam, Catherine strolls off. As she reaches the loan shark standing by the entrance, Norman watches her take the contract out of her purse and hand it over. The man briefly scans it and ever so slightly inclines his head towards her before folding up the contract and slipping it into his jacket pocket._

_Catherine extends a crimson-nailed hand. He quirks an eyebrow as he warily shakes it, and the two of them part ways._

_Norman's reflection stares out at him from the shining casino walls. It's only been a few minutes since his encounter with Catherine, but he already looks so tired._

_He raises a hand to his ponytail, dazed. Something seems off, but he doesn't know what it is—_

_"—? Norman?" Liam peers up at him, a concerned frown on his face. "You okay?"_

_"What? Yeah, I'm fine." Norman smiles back. "If anything, I should be asking_ you _that."_

_Liam doesn't seem convinced. "You know, for someone in your line of work, you're too easy to read."_

_"I've never heard anyone say that about me before."_

_This time, Liam lifts up his bangs to show that he's winking at Norman, who can't help but laugh. "I guess it's just easy for me, then?"_

_"But seriously. You think I can't tell? We're friends, aren't we? If something's bothering you, you can talk to me about it, even if it's about Catherine."_

_Norman freezes for a moment. Has he already given himself away?_

_"I don't know what she told you, but it must've been pretty bad for you to space out like this."_

_He breathes a sigh of relief, and shakes his head. "It's not Catherine, don't worry." That wasn’t entirely a lie, at least._

_"Thank you for asking, though." His throat tightens. "You're...a good friend, Liam."_

_Liam throws an arm over his shoulders—almost impressive, considering how drunk he is and how Norman has to bend down a little for him—and rests his head against Norman._

_He's warm._

_"So are you, Norman. It's always a pleasure working together."_

_Just as it's becoming all too much for Norman, the taxi pulls up in front of them, and he guides Liam across the pavement._

_As they reach the car, Liam turns. "Love you," he murmurs, kissing Norman's cheek before opening the door._

_Sometimes, he absolutely despises this man._

_“Good_ night, _Liam.”_

_"Night," Liam laughs as he crumples into the back of the cab with a sleepy wave._

_The taxi speeds off into the night, leaving Norman under the burning neon lights._

* * *

"Are you going to lie in bed feeling sorry for yourself all day today too, Shizuma-kun?"

Shizuma sat up, indignant. "I am _not_ lying in bed feeling sorry for myself."

Sen gave him a doubtful look, and turned back to the book he was reading. "If you're really so miserable, why don't you just go talk to that boy when he visits?"

"Why should I indulge him? He comes to visit without a single thought in his head, when he's the reason I'm in here."

"Alright, let's not forget you chose to do this."

"I did what I thought was necessary, and yet I'm getting punished?"

"The 'necessary' thing being murdering someone you care for.”

At this, Shizuma walked over to Sen, who merely looked up with his infuriating crooked smile. "And you're going to lecture me, Sen-san? When you've done nothing but lie since we met?"

Closing his book, Sen stood up—Shizuma had forgotten that the other man was quite a bit taller than him, and now the two of them were face-to-face, Sen’s gray eyes sharp and hollow. "Now then, Shizuma-kun,” he said, stepping closer, forcing Shizuma backwards until he had to sit down again. “Why don’t I explain to you exactly what brought me here?”

“I’ve mentioned my family before, haven’t I?”

“Only your father.”

_A green-haired man with kind eyes ruffles Sen's hair—he has to lean upwards a little to reach, but he manages nonetheless. Sen seems younger, less tired, the lines of his face not yet drawn into anger._

_The two of them laugh together._

"Well, I had a younger brother too. He wasn't very bright and we didn't get along, but since my father loved him so, I had to keep an eye on him."

_Sen tries to shake a young pale-haired man awake. After a minute, he blinks sleepily, one green eye discoloured and just a bit slower than the other. Once aware of his surroundings, he scowls at Sen. The two of them seem ready to pounce at each other—until their father gently puts his arms over their shoulders, and they're placated, if only for the moment._

"Between the two of us, my father always had his hands full. God knows where our mother usually was. She hated me and my brother, and would only ever visit at some ridiculous time of night when she thought we were asleep."

_The creak of the front door’s hinges and the muffled sound of conversation rouses a much younger Sen from his already restless sleep. Curiosity getting the better of him, he sneaks up to his bedroom’s door and opens it a crack._

_His father is standing in the doorframe, laughing softly. Against the light is the silhouette of what must surely be Sen's mother—only a glint of a silver earring with a pale green gem in it just visible within dark violet hair._

_Silver—the colour of the moon that night._

_Green—the colour of his hair, in the dark._

_Violet—the colour of his eyes, fading._

_As the two of them lean in closer to each other, Sen closes the door before he can see anything else._

Strangely unsettled, Shizuma shook his head. Paying him no mind, Sen continued, "Since my father had to take care of us on his own, he didn't have much choice in the work he ended up taking on. My brother and I would try to help as much as we could, but we were still children."

"One day, he decided to bring my younger brother along with him to some job site or other, saying it would be nice for him to get out of the house once in a while. I thought it was a bad idea, since he would probably just fall asleep somewhere dangerous, but my father assured me everything would be fine.”

_It’s been a couple hours since the time Sen’s father and brother were supposed to get home._

_Sen paces back and forth across the living room. Sometimes the two of them would get distracted by sweetshops and fairs, and they would dawdle and window shop, and that’s all that was happening right now. Right?_

_So he waits._

_And he waits._

“Eventually, after waiting so long for them to come home, my mother appeared. She told me that my brother had caused an accident that resulted in the death of my father, and he’d run away.”

“She even threw me out of the house to look for him. I couldn’t believe it at first, but when I found him…”

Sen stiffened with a soft huff. "He was living happily in a local theatre, like he'd forgotten all about our family. I knew he and I didn't always get along, but this…?"

"I couldn't forgive him. For getting our father killed, for abandoning me."

"I'm sure you know what happens next, don't you, Shizuma-kun?"

Not wanting to move, Shizuma didn't respond.

Regardless, Sen went on, a smile blooming on his face.

_Sen's eyes light up with the crackle and blinding heat from the flames coming off the theatre walls. In front of him, his younger brother—looking up with no recognition, only confusion and fear as the fire creeps closer._

_It seems the accident affected him too—losing his memory, he wandered lost until the theatre's director picked him up off the street._

_No matter._

_Sen would simply have to make him remember, even if he ended up burnt to ashes as well in the process._

"I called the police myself and waited for them outside the theatre as it burned." Sen's mouth curled, a snicker in his throat. "My work was done."

"I suppose it's a shame about everyone else who lived with him, but that's a small price to pay, I should think."

Turning to Shizuma, Sen smiled. "Well, there you have it. The actual true story of why I'm here."

"And what, because we happened to commit essentially the same crime and then turn ourselves in, I'm supposed to listen to you?"

"Something like that." Sen fixed his cold gaze on Shizuma, shifting uncomfortably. "Listen, Shizuma-kun. You pretend that you acted under a sense of morality, that you think you did the right thing, but there is no right or wrong. I know I did wrong, but that’s just an arbitrary distinction that humans have created for ourselves. You and I are the same—the one who will despair if I’m gone is you yourself."

"And if you’re clever enough to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you."

_Sharp, unforgiving moonlight crashing into the edge of a cliff._

_The icy night air mercilessly whips against skin._

_A silhouette rises against the brilliant white of the moon—within it, the outline of a gun._

_Its owner—piercing eyes accompanied by a pointed smile—Sen?_

_No, it's—_

Shizuma raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You're quoting Moriarty now?"

"Ah, yes. I can always count on you to catch those." Sen slowly stood, strolling to the cell door. "In the end, nothing is real. Not me, not you—nothing except for the blood on your hands."

Hooking a hand around the bars, he smoothly opened the cell without blinking. "So do as you will."

Sen went back to pick up his book, flashing one last smile at a dumbfounded Shizuma. "If you do decide to go, close the door on your way out."

* * *

The corridors were quiet. Shizuma's footsteps echoed far too loudly, and every step too slow, as if he were in a trance.

The other cells were dark and hazy. He wasn't even sure there was anyone else in any of the cells at all, aside from the one Sen was peacefully reading in—although, somewhere in the back of Shizuma's mind was the thought that if he walked back down where he'd come from, Sen would be gone as well.

There's a movement in the shadows of the cell nearest to Shizuma and he turned, instinctively. As he squinted at the darkness, he could almost make out human shapes behind the bars—

_A silver moon hangs in the night sky, its light illuminating a palace courtyard._

_Within it, an onmyoji ill at ease, a pale-haired shikigami trailing behind him._

_"...perhaps I was the only one who thought he and I were friends." The onmyoji's brows are drawn, gaze cast towards the ground._

_The shikigami shakes his head, laughing. "You say that, and yet, right there! He named his own shikigami for the colour of his eyes—" He turns, yellow eyes flashing at the shadows between the trees, "—the same way you named him."_

_"Surely, he must have been fonder of you than he wanted to admit."_

_Closing his eyes, the onmyoji smiles bitterly. "I can only hope that's true."_

_He looks up at the blanket of stars, at the perfect pale glow of the moon, a reminder of the friend he was unable to save._

Shizuma blinked. Without realising it, he had walked up to the visitors' area, where waiting for him, of course, was—

"...Shiki-san."

Wearing a wistful smile instead of his usual cocky grin, Shiki tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Kusanagi-kun."

Sighing, Shizuma drew up a chair in resignation. Shiki had his hands clasped on the table, looking up at Shizuma as if he had something to say, and then looking back down at the scuffed old wood.

The two of them sat in silence for what could have been a minute or an hour in what was surely a guilt-induced dreamscape created by Shizuma's own mind. At last, he spoke up.

"Why are you here?"

Shiki opened his mouth to respond, but now that they were face to face, all the thoughts Shizuma had over the past few days began to spill out.

"Was it not enough that you ruined my plans by coming into my home? Must you now come to laugh at me?"

"Kusanagi-kun, that's not why I—"

"I just don't understand. Why are you so persistent? Because you thought we could have been friends? You don't know anything about me." Shizuma's breath was ragged, the frustration climbing up his chest to prick at his eyes. "Whatever it is you think I am, you're wrong, so just give up, August—"

_—?_

August.

It was as if the air before his eyes were shattering like glass. Of course it was him. That man, and everything he meant—

_A knife glinting in the moonlight._

An ever present danger, waiting in shadow.

_The flutter of angel wings invisible to the eye._

Kindness, almost unreal and ethereal.

_An aria wafting from an opera theatre's stage._

Far too much skill, with the irritating confidence to match.

_Cold hands against warm bloodstains._

Help that he did not ask for.

_"I'm sorry. I thought you could turn it in your favour."_

Someone he had betrayed.

_"My only miscalculation...was meeting you."_

And a mistake that he'd made.

“...July.”

July couldn’t look away from August, sitting opposite him with a pained benevolent expression as the rest of the room began to melt away. He felt as if he was choking. 

The only word he could get out of his mouth was... _why ?_

August came up closer to him, soft hands wiping away the tears rolling down his cheeks. “Do I have to say it? You know already, don’t you?”

July curled in helplessly towards August, into his arms and welcoming embrace. It wasn’t real. None of it was, but god, if August wasn’t the warmest he’d ever been.

“It doesn’t matter what you are,” said August, cupping July’s face in his hands, brushing his hair from his eyes, their foreheads only just touching. “Of course I want to help you, July.”

The look in his eyes sent a knife through July’s chest as the distance between them closed to nothing.

“Because I love you.”

All July could do was pray for time to stop as August’s lips pressed against his own.

* * *

July opens his eyes. Nothing has changed.

His bed is empty, and through the space in the curtains, the sun is starting to rise.

He buries his face in his pillow to muffle some horrible garbled scream of anguish, the sun’s rays on the back of his hair like a warmth he would never feel again.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR MAKING IT TO THE END!!! i had this idea of "shizu dreams of other azumik roles and suffers" in my head like ages ago but didn't start writing it until risky game, but even then it was just ???? then what??? it was azuma's dream????? why tho???? and then scarlet mirror gave me july and i finally managed to properly get it going. writing play characters is fun!!! i wanna do it more!!!!
> 
> again, this is incredibly self-indulgent, just for myself (guitar guitar) (wrong play), but as i am a writer on the internet i need validation so if you liked it let me know (( 
> 
> as always, i'm at esnoyuuutsu on twitter!


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